The French Prize
Page 31
She sat down on the edge of the bed and handed him the envelope, then waited, watching him closely. But he simply smiled and instantly her stomach and back muscles relaxed.
‘This is for you,’ he said, handing it back to her. He rolled to his side and rested on his elbow, stroking his knuckles up and down her arm. ‘Please, Olivia. Do not be afraid. Open it.’
She ran her thumb under the end flap then delved inside. Immediately, she recognised the slick gloss of photographic paper. She glanced at him and when he nodded, she extracted the pictures.
She bit her lip, her eyes flooding as she gazed at that first, wonderful image. Even in the inadequate lamplight she knew she was viewing a miracle.
Lying in a lead-lined box on a stone slab, the blade dull with age, was a sword.
‘Durendal?’
He nodded.
She flicked through the remaining pictures, different views of the sword, some brown broken skulls and bones. There was no sign of Gaston.
‘And Gaston?’
‘I have returned his body to his parents.’ Looking down, he traced fingertips over the back of her hand. ‘It has been difficult for them. I have done my best but …’ He shrugged unhappily. ‘The history of our families weighs between us.’
Olivia closed her eyes. ‘It was me who led him to his death, not you.’
‘You did what you had to. He would have killed us both otherwise.’
‘But they blame you.’
His hand curled to hold hers. ‘It’s better that way. Plus I think that in their hearts they know he engineered his own fate.’
‘Thank you.’ Although the words didn’t seem enough for the burden he carried on her behalf. She toyed with his fingers, afraid to ask, but desperate to know what he had done with Durendal. Whether he had fulfilled his promise to Patrice.
‘The sword.’ She swallowed. ‘Have you destroyed it?’
‘No.’
‘And will —’ She stopped, unable to continue.
‘No.’ He pointed to the photographs. ‘Here is your dream, Olivia. I give it to you along with everything else I have.’
‘But your promise.’
‘As you once said, some things belong to the world. Besides, I have learned that the living are more important than the dead.’ He stroked her cheek, then smiled, his expression filled with adoration. ‘One person especially.’
Suddenly, he turned serious. He sat up, pulled the photographs from her hand and tossed them on the floor, then took her hands in his. His chest rose with the depth of his breath.
‘Olivia, will you come back with me to France? To live with me. Perhaps —’ He took another deep breath. ‘Perhaps, if you wanted, we could marry, start a family.’
She smiled. This was his dream. A normal life. A wife, a family. Freedom.
And he would have it. They would both have it.
‘Yes,’ she said, kissing him. Then she grinned and kissed him even harder. ‘My gran always said I should marry a knight. Looks like I found the perfect one.’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
With special thanks to super-agent Clare Forster of Curtis Brown who championed this book from the beginning and has helped me enormously this past year.
Also thanks to Harlequin Australia’s Head of Publishing Sue Brockhoff for taking a chance on The French Prize and me. I’m so thrilled to be releasing these books with you! To Senior Editor Annabel Blay and editor Alex Nahlous, thank you both for making edits such a pleasure.
To Rachael Johns for sharing the excitement and being a great friend. Also thanks to all my other writing buddies who are so clever and fun. This can be a lonely business but your emails and social media chatter keep it bright.
And, as always, to Jim. My rock.
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ISBN: 9781488742750
TITLE: The French Prize
First Australian Publication 2014
Copyright © 2014 Cathryn Hein
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